


Make a Mercy Out of Me

by ira_fae



Series: The Devil's After Both of Us [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Canonical Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ira_fae/pseuds/ira_fae
Summary: Maratelle and Brendol Hux welcome Armitage Hux into the world! But Brendol is the worst kind of father and Armitage suffers at his hand.-Or; four times Brendol abuses Hux(back story one-shot for Who Have You Become)
Series: The Devil's After Both of Us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707214
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Make a Mercy Out of Me

**Author's Note:**

> i think i've tagged everything but if i haven't i'm sorry and tell me so i can tag it!
> 
> find me on Tumblr [@ira-fae](https://ira-fae.tumblr.com/)

**_1983_ **

_ Maratelle and Brendol Hux welcome _

**_Armitage Hux_ **

_ Into the world. _ ****

_ He was born on 12 May 1983. _

**_1987 - 4 years old_ **

Little hands splay out, mashed potato squishing between the digits. A soft giggle erupts from the boy and he looks up at his mother. She smiles softly at him. 

“Now, Armie, you know you should play with your food. Wipe your hand please,” her voice is soft and adoring. Her eyes shine with the love for her son. He looks between his mother and the mashed potato. He scrunches up his little hands, gathering the food in his hands. He giggles again. 

“Armitage,” harsh, sharp, the voice of his father cuts across the table, “do as your mother says.” Brendol narrows his eyes, waiting for his order to be followed. Maratelle turns to look at her husband, her face creased with worry. Armitage opens both hands and raises them to show his father, a wide smile on his face. 

“Look, Papa!” 

Brendol’s nostrils flare as he watches little bits of potato fly from tiny fingers, “Armitage.” 

“Darling, please. Wipe your hands,” Maratelle turns back to her son, holding a napkin out. Armitage forgoes the napkin and sticks each finger in his mouth, the potato being replaced by saliva. 

“Your mother told you to do something, Armitage. I want it done, or there will be consequences.” Brendol has leaned forward, anger clear on his face. 

“All clean!” Armitage exclaims, showing his hands to his father.

“Ruler, now,” Brendol snaps. 

Maratelle gasps, “Brendol, he-”

“Hush. Armitage, go. Retrieve a ruler and bring it back, immediately.” 

The little boy frowns, climbing off his seat, his lip out, tears filling his eyes. 

He whispers, “Yes, Papa,” as he passes. 

**_1991 - 8 years old_ **

Armitage smiles brightly as the camera flashes. His father’s heavy hand rests on his shoulder, even after the photographer has left. There are lots of grown-ups, all dressed in fancy clothing. His mother drifted away quickly once the photographer was done with them. One of Armitage’s father’s friends comes over. Armitage is playing with the bottom of his coat and Brendol flicks him in the shoulder with his other hand. Armitage looks up, seeing his father’s angry face. He quickly hides his hands behind his back, hiding a frown. 

“Brendol,” the other adult is saying, “it’s so good to see you! You and your wife host lovely parties,” Armitage doesn’t really listen to what his father says back, his eyes drifting over to the table of food that guests keep picking from. He’s hungry. He complained about having to wear a suit earlier in the day and Brendol only gave him half his lunch. 

Armitage crossly thinks that his mother would’ve given him the other half if she had been there. The long table is covered with lots of food. Armitage was near it earlier and he saw these tiny sandwiches that looked really yummy. There is also a lot of desserts he’d like to get his hands on. 

“-Armitage?” 

Oh, no. His father is talking to him, digging his fingers into his shoulder particularly hard. Armitage looks up, his eyes wide. His father and the other man are both looking down at him. 

“Uh…” he says weakly. Brendol narrows his eyes at his son. 

“Mr. Sloane was wondering if you were enjoying school, Armitage,” Brendol says his son’s name with a bite to his tone. Armitage swallows. He looks over to the other adult. 

“Y-Yes, Mr. Sloane. I go to a very nice school. All my teachers are very- um- very smart.” Armitage knows he’s butchering what his father had told him to say and by the intensity of the grip of his hand Brendol isn’t happy about it. “I am learning a lot.” That was definitely something he’d been told to say. Mr. Sloane nods. 

“That’s very good,” Mr. Sloane says, his tone patronizing, “You’re a very smart boy.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Sloane.” Armitage smiles, showing his teeth. Mr. Sloane stops paying attention to him and his father’s grip loosens, so Armitage goes back to looking at the table. There’s a stack of rolls that Armitage can see. They are golden brown and shiny. His mouth waters. When Mr. Sloane steps away he looks up at his father.

“May I get some food, father?” 

Brendol heaves a sigh at him, his eyes narrow. Armitage slumps his shoulder, already knowing the answer. 

“No. You behaved very rudely in front of Mr. Sloane. You can get food once I’ve seen you behave properly in front of some of our guests.” 

Apparently, that means he has to meet almost every grown-up at the party. His feet begin to ache and his stomach is growling more often than not. The food starts to dwindle. Despite finally remember exactly what his father told him to say he’s not allowed to get food. Despite shaking hands with many adults he’s not allowed to get food. 

He’s not sure how long it’s been - it has felt like  _ hours _ and  _ hours  _ of standing and shaking hands and boring talking. He hasn’t seen his mother since they got their photograph taken together. After another set of grown-ups walk away, Armitage turns to look up at his father. 

“Father, may I get food now? Please?” His stomach growls loudly to punctuate his question and his father rolls his eyes. He finally releases his hand from Armitage’s shoulder and checks his watch. 

“You may go to the kitchen and ask the cook for the other half of your lunch. Then you will go to your room for the rest of the night. I expect your suit to be hung up in your closet. You understand me?” 

Armitage nods. 

“You are dismissed.” 

**_1995 - 12 years old_ **

A bell rings, signaling dinner. Armitage springs up from his seat, walking from his bedroom to the top of the stairs. He stops, breathing in. It smells so good. He starts running down the stairs but stops himself, slowing to a walk, not wanting a scolding, or worse. He gets to the dining room first, seating himself quietly. He places his napkin on his lap as he’s been taught and waits, hands on his lap. His mother enters next, in a pale yellow dress, her hair swept up elegantly. She sits down in front of him. She always looks so pretty. Hux hears footsteps and looks down at his lap. His father enters the dining room, footsteps heavy and sure. He sits at the head of the table, Maratelle on his right, Armitage on his left. 

“Hello, dear,” his mother says softly. 

Brendol responds, “You look stunning, dear.” There’s a tense silence and Brendol says, “Did you finish your homework, Armitage?”

Armitage swallows, “I finished everything but Maths. And I only have two questions left.” His tone is soft, not wanting to be taken as disrespectful. A lady comes out with a bottle. 

“Wine?” she asks and Armitage sees his mother lift up her glass. He doesn’t watch if his father accepts the drink.  _ Wine _ , it smells disgusting. The lady leaves and Armitage can feel his father’s eyes on him.

“You’re not done.” It’s not a question.

Armitage raises his eyes, “I only have two questions left, and it won’t take me long to finish them. Five minutes.” Brendol smiles at him and Armitage relaxes a little. 

“Well, then you better go finish them. And to bed straight after.” 

Armitage’s mouth drops open, “But-”

“He can’t go to bed without dinner, sweetheart,” his mother’s voice soothes him a little. He looks between his mother and his father. 

“He can. And he will,” Brendol seethes to his wife, “why don’t we pour you another glass,  _ dear _ ?” He turns back to look at Armitage, “Go. Finish your homework and then straight to bed. If I catch you down here there will be serious consequences.” Armitage stands, lowering his eyes to the ground. 

“Yes, Father.”

**_1999 - 16 years old_ **

Armitage shifts his weight from foot to foot in front of his mother. She lounges on a love seat, staring out the window, into their expansive back garden. She sighs heavily, twirling her drink in the glass. 

“You know you need to ask your father, Armie.” She doesn’t look at him, her eyes trained on something. Armitage frowns. That is the exact opposite answer that he wanted. He absolutely does  _ not _ want to ask his father. She drains the glass empty and holds it out to him, still not turning to look at him. 

“Get me another scotch, Armie?” her voice sounds detached and weird. Armitage sighs and goes over to the little liquor stand and pours a glass for his mother. 

Finding his father is not hard. He’s where he always is when he’s home. In that office of his. Armitage screws his face up in concentration and knocks. He takes a breath and steps back, making himself presentable. 

“Come in.” Armitage reaches out and opens the door. He only takes a couple of steps in, toes just over the edge of the rug in the center of the room. He sighs quietly. 

“Father, I was hoping to ask you a question.” He knows not to move any further, to do anything more. He just waits, his eyes trained on the swirling pattern on the center of the rug. His father heaves a sigh and Armitage takes that as a bad sign. 

“What do you want, Armitage?” Definitely a bad sign. 

Armitage swallows, “Well, a couple of my friends-” he ignores he derisive snort from his father, “are going out this weekend to celebrate finishing out GCSEs. I was hoping to go along with them. It won’t cost you anything. I can pay for any expense that I may in- incur, including travel.” 

“You want to go out with your  _ friends _ ,” his father is taunting him. Armitage bites down on his tongue. “Where are you and your  _ many friends _ going?” Armitage breathes for a second. 

“There is a pub near-” 

Brendol interrupts him, standing, “You want to go out, with your  _ friends _ , to a pub? You,” he starts to make his way around his desk and Armitage tries not to curl in on himself, “want to go out and debase yourself with your seedy friends in a dirty pub, drinking out of pint glasses that won’t have been washed for weeks.” He stands right in front of Armitage and he laughs. He laughs and he laughs and Armitage almost breaks the skin of his lip as he worries it between his teeth. 

“Look at me,” Brendol snaps. Armitage can’t bring himself to meet his father’s gaze. His chin is jerked up sharply so he has to look right into his cruel gaze. His father’s fingers dig into his chin, his breath smells of the scotch he poured for his mother, “You think I’ll allow you to go out? Why do you really want to go out? Because God knows you don’t have any friends.” Brendol pulls away, shaking his head. 

“There would just be four of us altogether,” Armitage says softly, dropping his gaze back down to the ground. 

“Do you know what I think is really going on?” 

Armitage shakes his head, not trusting his voice, but knowing he has to respond. 

Brendol sneers, “ _ I think _ you want to go out so you can do repulsive things like the dirty faggot that you are.” Armitage gasps softly, eyes filling with tears.

“That’s not-” he starts softly, but stops, realizing too late his mistake. 

“Excuse me?” Brendol asks sharply. He grabs Armitage’s jaw fully with his hand. He could slide his hand down just a little and choke him. Armitage’s eyes go wide. 

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to say anything,” he gasps wildly, desperately wanting to reach up and pull his hand away. 

“But you did say something, and I’d like to hear you say it again, looking me in the eye.” Brendol leans closer and Armitage smells more than just scotch. He doesn’t know what else his father has had to drink but it’s more than just the scotch. 

“I- I-” Armitage panics, there’s no way out of this.

“Speak, boy!” Brendol snaps, right in his face. Armitage swallows, the action making acutely aware of where his father’s fingers grip soft flesh and not hard bone. There are only a couple of points of contact with Brendol’s fingers and Armitage’s throat, the rest gripping his chin, but it’s enough to fill him with intense fear. 

“That’s not- that’s not what we’re doing. It’s just- just a drink.” His hands are shaking and he stops them at his stomach, balling his hands in his shirt. Bredol’s eyes are wild with something Armitage doesn’t understand. He shakes in his father’s grip. 

Then it’s gone. He’s pulled his hand away but Armitage barely has time to breathe before-

_ -Crack- _

He cradles his cheek in his hands, tears spilling over. He gasps in pain, stepping back, away from the man who just smacked him. 

“Just a drink my ass. I’ll be damned before I let you go out and parade around like a disgusting sodomite. Go to your room and stay there until I decide you can come out.” Armitage turns, scrambling for the door, not responding, cradling his cheek in shaking hands. 

**Author's Note:**

> this hurt me to write, just so you know
> 
> find me on Tumblr [@ira-fae](https://ira-fae.tumblr.com/)


End file.
